


The Curse of the Were-Penguin

by caulkhead



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Humour, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caulkhead/pseuds/caulkhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An uninvited guest causes considerable confusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curse of the Were-Penguin

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to A_J_Hall for betaing.

...  
GERTI, somewhere over the Red Sea

"The _Costa Candida_."

"Hmmm, let me think. _Costa Chlamydia_ "

"Ah, a ship from a long and illustrious line. Sister to the _Costa Gonorrhea_ , if I remember rightly. Oh, alright then. If it has to be a C... _Costa Cholera_. And don't try the buffet." 

It was a long flight from Abu Dhabi back to Fitton. After a while, the delights of 'Yachts named after diseases' palled, to be replaced by a round of 'The Oligarch's Yacht is a tasteful yacht, its outrageous decor notwithstanding.' Presently, unable to recall all the details of the mink-lined diamante-encrusted Versace lifejackets that Douglas felt were indispensable on any well-run superyacht, and unwilling to admit defeat, Martin stretched and glanced out of the window. The moon was rising out of the Arabian Sea, a sight to stir the soul of any pilot. Except, perhaps, a severely undercaffeinated one, to whom it could mean only one thing.

"I haven't seen Arthur since the sun finally set, and that was ages ago. I think I'll go and hunt down that coffee."

Martin opened the door into the main cabin, then stumbled back with a strangled squawk, immediately echoed from somewhere around knee level. He slammed the cabin door shut, and from the sound of it, threw his full weight back against it.

"Douglas, that's too much. You've really gone and done it now."

"Done what? I am completely innocent," protested Douglas, on general principles.

"No, no, even you can't claim to be innocent about this. That's a bloody penguin out there. I don't know where the hell you got it from, but it can't stay here."

"Martin. Martin. I think you should sit down for a moment. In the cabin. You didn't catch the sun in that stopover, did you?" There was a certain amount of alarm under Douglas' smooth tones, though he was hiding it well. Martin missed it entirely.

"Don't even try it, Douglas. I know a penguin when I see it, and there's no way that one's a hallucination. It's black and white, it's about a foot and a half high, it's got a beak and it smells of fish. It's a penguin."

Douglas checked the instruments, decided the autopilot could cope without him for a moment or two, and turned to deal with what was almost certainly the greater threat. A pilot with sunstroke was one thing; a delirious pilot on the verge of becoming violent quite another. And from the thumping against the cabin door, Martin was increasingly close to that point. But when he turned round, hands non-aggressively by his side, the thumping was plainly coming from the other side of the door, and, indeed at about knee-level. Seeing Douglas looking at him, Martin opened the door.

...

"You see?" said Martin, taking advantage of the uncharacteristic second of silence. "It's a penguin. I told you so."

"You did indeed, Martin, you did indeed," said Douglas, as levelly as he could. "And I told _you_ that I had nothing whatsoever to do with it. So how the hell did it get onboard?"

They exchanged glances.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Martin. You really should have seen this one coming. You let Arthur rescue one single little pigeon, and next thing we know he thinks he's St Francis of Assisi."

"Look, it wasn't me that let him rescue the pigeon. It was a genuinely hazardous situation."

"And as far as Arthur is concerned, so's this. He probably thinks it's too hot in the desert and he's trying to get it back to the Antarctic. Or Qiqitarjuaaq, whichever we get to first."

"Oh, God. It's probably from some Emir's private zoo or something, isn't it. We'll cause a diplomatic incident.They'll arrest us for penguin-napping. And smuggling, and illegal export of wildlife. Oh God. And we're going back there next week. They'll snatch us off the plane as soon as Gerti touches down. Oh God, they'll execute us. Is it stoning to death they have there for theft?"

Martin glared at the radar screen, as if he were expecting to see a fighter jet coming up behind them at any second.

"I think you'll find that's adultery, Martin. And since that is very definitely a penguin, and not someone's exceedingly short wife in a particularly feathery burka, I think we can safely say that stoning's off the agenda. And, Martin, since nobody's really going to send a squadron of F-15s to round up a penguin, how about we keep the door shut, and let events take their course? Arthur's penguin, Arthur's problem. Let _him_ deal with the might of the Fitton authorities."

For a moment, Martin looked tempted. Then he set his shoulders, straightened his tie and reached for his hat. "No. He's got to take responsibility for his actions, and I think, as Captain, it falls to me to make him do so. Douglas, you have control."

Two minutes later, he was back in the flight deck again, whisking through the door and slamming it shut before the curious penguin could waddle in after him. If anything, he was even more wild-eyed than before.

"Douglas, I can't find Arthur."

"Oh, nonsense, Martin," said Douglas comfortably. "He's probably hiding from the awe-inspiring majesty that is you in that hat and your best Captain Bligh mood. He'll come out of the loo when he's ready."

"No, he's not in there. He always locks the door when he's hiding, and the door isn't locked. I looked."

"Well, he must be somewhere. People don't just vanish, not on planes with six rows of seats. Of course, you can have a jolly good go on something bigger - as many a hostie has cause to know - but not on Gertie. The old girl may have her quirks, but she's hardly the _Marie Celeste_."

"All right then, you look. I bet there's nowhere on Gertie you can hide anything that you wouldn't know about, anyway," said Martin, rather nastily. 

"No, I don't expect there is." Douglas ducked out past the penguin again, leaving Martin gratifyingly speechless in his wake.

...

Five minutes later, Douglas had to admit that he, too, was baffled. He'd checked everywhere that could conceivably hold a full-grown adult male, and then everywhere that couldn't. And there was neither hide nor hair of Arthur to be found, although the hat, the lifejacket and the comedy hooter were carefully hung on the pegs in the galley. He set off again, this time looking everywhere that could hold anything down to the size of a whisky bottle; a subsection of Gertie with which he was intimately familiar.

He was somewhat hampered in his quest by the penguin, which was taking great interest in following him all round the cabin and peering into every cubby hole that he checked along with him. It was also pecking at his trouser legs, which wasn't helping matters. Douglas patted it absent-mindedly on the head, then looked at it more closely. Something about that bright-eyed, perky expression and that friendly inquisitiveness looked remarkably familiar. He crouched down, carefully, and peered at it as closely as he could without getting into beak range. The penguin put its head on one side and stared back.

For the first time that he could remember, Douglas felt something that might, almost, have been uncertainty.

"Arthur?" he asked.

...

"Douglas, that's ridiculous. People don't turn into penguins. They just don't."

Martin was not taking this well. Douglas decided to try logic.

"Well, you know what they say. Once you have eliminated the impossible, what remains..."

"If, once you have eliminated the impossible, what remains is that our cabin steward has turned into a penguin, you obviously haven't eliminated it, have you?" snapped Martin.

"And yet, what remains is that we are down one Arthur, and up one penguin. I can't answer for the penguin, but Arthur was definitely on board when we took off, because he did the safety demonstration, just in case either of us had forgotten it."

The penguin squawked again, and flapped its wings so vigorously that it seemed, impossibly, almost on the point of take-off. Martin eyed it more closely.

"It's almost as if he's trying to talk. What do you think he's saying?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say we probably now know the penguin for 'Brilliant'." 

"Well, I don't think it's brilliant at all. And assuming that that is Arthur - oh, stop squawking will you - how did he turn into a penguin in the first place? It's not like it's something you can catch from eating strawberries. Or even drinking alcohol."

"How should I know? Perhaps he got bitten by something in the Dubai Sea Life Center." 

"You're suggesting that Arthur is a _were-penguin_? Douglas, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"More ridiculous than Arthur turning into a penguin in the first place?"

"Much more ridiculous than .... no, it's a fair point. Wait. Douglas - if Arthur got bitten, what if he bites one of us? What if he bites _both_ of us?. Penguins can't fly."

"Noted for it, in fact." 

"Will you be serious for a moment? How are we going to land a plane, if we're all flippers and beaks?"

The penguin squawked again, and rubbed its head companionably against Martin's knee. He shied away, violently, and caught his head on the cabin wall. The penguin used the opportunity to grab a custard cream out of the packet between the pilot seats. He had to admit, it scarcely looked like a ravening werebeast. In fact, it looked disorientingly like... Arthur. Which brought another worry to mind.

"Even if we do land, what will we do about immigration? What will we do about _Carolyn_?"

"Hmmm. Let me think"

"I mean, it's not like we can just land the plane and say 'Carolyn, we think you ought to know that Arthur appears to have turned into a penguin,' is it, now?"

"Well, it does have the merit of being true."

"And when has that held you back before? We've got five hours to Fitton, surely you can come up with something better than that."

"I shall bend all my considerable talent to the task. In the meantime, do you think you could stop our passenger from trying to eat the joystick?" 

...

FITTON

"Carolyn, we think you ought to know that Arthur appears to have turned into a penguin."

Martin, behatted and bemedalled, and looking rather as if he had been stuffed, delivered the line, and promptly made for the door. Carolyn sighed, heavily. 

"Oh, not again."

"Ah - again?"

"We all hoped he'd grown out of it. Well, that is a nuisance. He gets through a quite unbelievable amount of sardines, and I don't think Snoopadoop will like it at all."

Martin tottered over to the one reasonably stable chair and collapsed into it.  
   
"You mean... he's done it before?"

"Used to do it all the time when he was a kid. It was terribly inconvenient - I mean, what do you write in the absence note? You can't just put "Please excuse Arthur from football as he has turned into a penguin again."  
   
"Mm, it might wash once or twice, but I suppose it would begin to look suspicious after that. And they do fall over their own feet a lot. Bet he was good at swimming, though."  
   
"Douglas, I get the idea you're not taking this entirely seriously." 

"How seriously can you take a were-penguin, for goodness sake, especially one that's been tobogganing up and down the aisle for the last three hours?" Douglas paused, with the unmistakeable look of a man who was getting an Idea. "Carolyn, how long do these - ah - transformations usually last? I wonder if we could train him to serve drinks to the passengers? It's not like he could make any more of a hash of it than he usually does, and he's certainly better dressed. Penguin waiters have got to be a selling point to someone. Mr Aliakin, for instance - "

Carolyn looked up from fending off the penguin, which was making an enthusiastic attempt to pull out the wires from the back of the computer. 

"He isn't a were-penguin. Or if he is, he's one with no lunar clock whatsoever and a very poor sense of timing. He doesn't change at full moon, or anything predictable like that. One minute, Arthur. The next minute, penguin. And if you want to explain to health and safety why your captain has introduced a penguin management checklist (yes, Martin, I know what you're thinking of), be my guest. Because I'm not going to."

"So... no more Arthur on GERTI?"

Martin sounded uncharacteristically crushed.

"Unless we can find a way we can guarantee he'll end a flight the same shape he started it, no. Arthur is not going to become the world's first flying penguin. Arthur, stop climbing on that desk. SIT. STAY. Good penguin. And now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I have to see a man about a fish."

...

Having shepherded them out, and found Arthur a slightly elderly tuna sandwich and a dish of water, Carolyn pulled the desk drawer all the way out, turned it over, and pried off the drawing pins that held a slip of pasteboard tacked to the underside. It had been a peculiar trip, that one, long before she had met Gertie, never mind the crew, and she had hoped never to need the payment she'd been told she earned over and above the fee. But the card had travelled with her from job to job, all the same. It bore only a surname and a number - not, emphatically, the usual form for a mobile number, but a mobile was the only thing she had to call it from. It was answered on the first ring. She took a deep breath.

"Professor Snape? I believe you owe me a favour."


End file.
